


Only Fools Follow Golden Rules

by Rabenschnabel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Barty Crouch Jr Appreciation 2k19, F/M, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-10-04 03:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabenschnabel/pseuds/Rabenschnabel
Summary: What started out as an evening of quiet planning and reminiscing gets turned on its head for Lord Voldemort when none other than Harry Potter arrives at the doorsteps of Malfoy Manor.A conversation equally as enlightening as it is pleasant ensues and shows him a side of his prophesied nemesis he hadn't expected to find.Instead of the glorious Boy-Who-Lived, he encounters Harry. Just Harry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this while watching a very old Good Omens Animatic.
> 
> https://youtu.be/ZIaWe-VAOHc
> 
> (or search for The Riddle - Good Omens by gabe mun) 
> 
> The tall one is Voldy, the smol one is Harry and the red woman is Death. It's rather lovely to imagine it this way, you should give it a try :)

There had been many things he'd missed as a wraith.

Wine, for example. 

Standing on an ornate balcony overlooking the Malfoy grounds shrouded in darkness with a glass of merlot in his hand, Lord Voldemort almost gave in to the desire to heave a heartfelt sigh. He didn't though, only to regret a missed opportunity when a sharp knock sounded on the stained glass door. 

He waved his hand and the door slid open. Casual use of all sorts of wandless and wordless magic, yes, those he had also missed. 

Rabastan stepped through the open doorway, bowed deep, stayed like that and addressed him in a respectable fashion. 

"My lord, you have a visitor." 

The countless supplicants, on the other hand, he had not missed. 

"You _ do _ realise that I've asked not to be disturbed?" 

You had to give it to Rabastan– he didn't so much as flinch. 

"I'm aware, my lord. We drew lots and, well." Here, the man held up a very short piece of straw. "We wouldn't have interrupted your musings if it weren't for something… momentous."

"Oh?" Voldemort took care to keep his eyebrows down so as not to seem eager. "Colour me intrigued, Rabastan. What is it?" 

"Not what, my lord," the man replied, looking up and into his eyes for the first time. "_Who_." 

That the wine glass didn't shatter on the ground was only thanks to how forceful his grip on it had become instead of slipping. 

"Are you mocking me, Rabastan Lestrange? Have you implanted visions in your own mind?" 

"I would never, my lord," Rabastan replied evenly. "They're with Crouch." 

"I've told you not to call him that," Voldemort chided, more out of habit than any real malice, thinking five trains of thought at the same time. "Bring them to me. Have Barty come with."

Rabastan nodded swiftly and turned to walk off. That's what he liked about the male Lestranges– always so little fuss. They just… _ did._

Voldemort vanished his wine glass with a thought and steepled his hands behind his back. If this was a trap, it was a very poorly-designed one and he _ did _ expect his nemesis to have at least a little more cunning than to run blindly to his own execution. 

The door was still open, so he saw his visitors approach. Two teenagers, held at wandpoint by his most loyal. Both pale, only one shivering and it wasn't the girl. 

"Harry Potter," Voldemort greeted him with the slightest nod of his head. "Forgive my manners for not receiving you with more grandeur but I had not anticipated your arrival. And you are?" 

He turned to the girl who stared at him as if she had not a care in the world. 

"My name is Luna Lovegood, Lord Voldemort," she answered as if he'd asked about the weather. "We've had a long flight, may we have some refreshments?" 

"You came here by broom?" 

Voldemort felt his forehead draw itself into the slightest frown. He'd heard about Potter being obsessed with Quidditch, of course, but this? 

"Oh no," the girl laughed easily. "We came here by thestral." 

He noticed Barty doing the universally-acknowledged finger motion of cuckoo behind the girl's back and he nodded imperceptibly. 

"I see. Barty, why don't you procure some provisions for our guests? They are so small, after all." 

Barty nodded and was off. 

"So tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, young Harry?" 

Voldemort gingerly sat down on one of the opulent settees and bid the teenagers do the same. The girl followed and pulled the boy down with her. Immediately, Potter's knuckles gripped onto his school robes and went white. 

"No, this is stupid, I should never have come here," Potter lamented, as if to himself. 

"You can't get cold feet now, Harry," the girl encouraged him. "After all, you're the only one here with shoes." 

Voldemort looked down against his better judgment and saw the strange girl's bare feet drumming a rhythm on the stone floor with her toes. It made him acutely aware of the way his own bare feet absorbed the chill of the night. 

"What a strange thing you are, Ms. Lovegood," he commented not without wonder before looking at his nemesis again. "Look, Harry, this is the first time we have been able to have a civil conversation for this long. I will not squander this opportunity by blindly throwing curses left and right. What made you wander into the lion's den?" 

"I found the wolves," Potter answered finally, voice clear but tight. "They were hiding amongst the sheep all this time and they've been chewing us up. I'm just a pawn for them. For the ministry, the public, even Dumbledore!" 

"And you wish to change that?" 

"I… don't know what I want," Potter admitted. "All I know is that I don't want others to decide what I should want either. Everyone expects something from me, and nobody ever tells me what that _ is._ I'm done being played. I want answers." 

Voldemort considered those words carefully, deciding not to violate the teenagers' minds– at least not yet. 

"And you expect I shall provide these answers? Don't misunderstand me. Coming here? Very brave, very Gryffindor, I can admire these qualities in an enemy, but surely you know the Dark Lord better than to expect mercy?" 

"If you kill me, my friend will destroy the Cloak." 

"The cloak? What cloak? Why would I care for your wardrobe, Harry Potter?" 

Voldemort's voice became cold and he felt rage start to thrum behind his temples. Were these halfwits playing him for a fool? Was this the Light's idea of a practical joke? 

"Not _ a _ cloak," the girl clarified, fishing out a necklace from her robes. "_The _ cloak." 

Time seemed to stop and for a brief moment, only Voldemort, the girl's dainty hand and the Deathly Hallows necklace grasped therein existed. 

"I see," he finally conceded, and did he taste his own pulse in his throat? "A family heirloom, I suppose? There _ have _always been too many similarities between us." 

Potter looked determined now, his white-knuckled grip loosening. 

"I've learned some things, and I'd like you to verify them for me," he bartered. "If… if this conversation goes well, I will… I mean, I might consider, uh, gifting you the Cloak in return for my continued, undisturbed existence. And that of some of my friends." 

This time, there was no stopping his eyebrows from inching up his forehead. 

"You'd trust me with that?" 

"I would require a Vow, of course," Potter explained. "Nothing unreasonable, but no trust just for the sake of it. I'd be willing to take one, too. I'm done being used as a puppet and I hold no illusions as to my being able to best you in combat or anything." 

"I see. Don't get me wrong, Harry, but you must understand that this change of heart seems out of left field, so I need to ask– what brought this about?" 

"The ministry," Potter started, sadly shaking his head. "They're all idiots. All of them. The whole thing is one giant freak show but it's too sad to laugh at. Also, the Light is, well, they all expect me to be this beacon, this never-ending symbol of hope and revolution. And you know how many of them have ever reached out to me to ready me for any actual combat against someone as you? Seeing as how you're somehow _ obsessed _ with me?"

"Judging by my knowledge of Albus Dumbledore and his loathsome meddling, I should think absolutely nobody. You're a symbol, you just exist, but no one pays you any more mind than to make you responsible whenever something doesn't work out." 

Potter sighed, running his hand through his inky black hair. 

"Exactly," he agreed. 

This was when Barty returned, floating a tea service and a platter of sandwiches in front of him. 

"My lord," he greeted, conjuring a table to put the refreshments on. "Do you want me to stay here or maybe guard the door?" 

"I should like you at my side, dear Barty," Voldemort commanded gently, conjuring a cushion next to his feet. 

Without hesitation, Barty dropped cross-legged onto the pillow and shivered when Voldemort patted his head gently before serving his guests tea and inviting them to eat. 

Potter hesitated but the girl readily picked up a sandwich and started munching. After another moment's hesitation, Potter followed suit. 

"It _ is _ true, you know?" Barty watched the teenagers eat and craned his neck around to look at his master. "During the tournament, nobody even considered helping him. If I hadn't made sure he'd be provided with clues, there would be one less Light warrior around this table now." 

"You were the reason I was in the tournament in the first place," Potter argued without heat. "Though it was a toss-up between you and Dumbledore once again devising some kind of test for me. I'm not even angry about it anymore." 

"That's good," Voldemort conceded, thoughtfully taking a sip of his tea. "Tell me your questions, and I shall answer what I can." 

Potter drew in a deep breath and looked at his friend. The girl nodded at him and made a gesture to get on with it. 

"My dreams… is there really a prophecy about us?" 

Voldemort sat down his tea cup and massaged his brow. 

"Yes, there is, though I only know parts of it. _ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. _ That's all my side knows of it." 

Potter nodded curtly at that. "Thank you for your honesty. Who knows the whole prophecy? Are they alive?"

Ah. Voldemort felt the slightest smile curl his lip upward because this opportunity? Priceless. 

"Why, your dear headmaster of course." 

He watched with delight as what colour had remained in Potter's face drained away completely. Just as quickly as it had left, it was replaced with the red-hot anger of a teenager in rage and the boy sprang to his feet, pacing. 

Voldemort noticed Barty growing stiff and restless at his feet, how he began reaching for his wand, so he buried one hand in the blonde hair in warning. Immediately, the man relaxed back against the settee and pressed into the contact. Voldemort humoured him while watching Potter angrily mutter to himself about meddling old fools and no-good mentors and decided to strike the finishing blow.

"Harry?" His voice was clear and authoritative and the boy looked to him. "The loyal death eater who shared what he had overheard of the prophecy? You know him well– his name is Severus Snape." 

It was a good thing Barty had relieved the boy of his wand, for who knows what he would have tried if he'd had it? Still, the boy's mood had gone from fuming anger to cold fury and Voldemort delighted in the crackle of magic around his prophesied nemesis. 

"I'll kill him. I'll go kill him right now. Luna, we're leaving." The boy walked up to them and held his hand out to Barty. "My wand, if you'd please." 

Voldemort pulled at Barty's hair and the man hissed a little and let his head hang down, making no move to retrieve the boy's wand. 

"Our conversation is not over yet, Harry Potter. Sit down." 

Reluctantly, Potter moved back to his seat and sat down, viciously attacking one of the remaining sandwiches. 

"Just because they're called the Light does not make them saints, Harry," he told the boy. "Dumbledore has many skeletons in his closet, as does Snape, as does every ministry worker." 

"So many of them work for you, don't they? I bet Umbridge is one of yours, too!" 

"The pink toad terrorising Hogwarts?" Voldemort sneered in distaste. "No, this abomination was created by the bowels of the ministry itself, Harry. I had no part in her and I despise her methods as well as her sense of _ style_. Hogwarts is _ my _ school and she will pay dearly for defiling it." 

"Your school? I thought you hated Hogwarts?" Potter's voice sounded unsure, earlier ire forgotten momentarily. 

"Hate it? Oh, Harry, why would I hate it? No… I hate what Dumbledore has _ made _ of the school. Ridding the curriculum of all things even remotely considered Dark, employing halfwits and letting bigotry and hate run wild among the students? For the _Leader_ of the Light, I consider his aptitude for leadership atrocious."

Potter nodded bitterly at that and even the girl looked a little green and set the rest of her sandwich aside. 

"The students can be very mean," she said and turned to Potter. "The DA are the first friends I've had in Hogwarts, did you know that? I've always been alone before that and none of the teachers helped me. I was planning on maybe not even returning and doing home study with my daddy before I got to know you." 

Potter nodded bitterly, looking away from them towards the dark grounds. Voldemort would have paid lots of Malfoy's money to know what was going on in his nemesis' head right now. 

"I see," he finally said, giving the girl's hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry I didn't notice you sooner, Luna. I'd have stepped in because… I know the feeling all too well." 

Potter blushed, then, and cleared his throat. How fortunate this day had turned out– a little lost boy seeking the truth from his enemy, of all people. A boy kept in the dark all his life suddenly drowning in it. How poetic!

Voldemort stroked Barty's hair one last time and got up in one fluid motion. 

"Walk with me, Harry Potter," he offered and held his hand out to the boy. 

It was beautiful. 

He could see every fibre of the boy warring against the notion but, as expected, curiosity won out and the boy reached slowly for his hand. When he was only a couple inches away, the boy stopped and his hand was trembling. 

"At the graveyard, it… it hurt," he said in a small voice. 

"It won't hurt now," Voldemort promised, inching his hand a little closer. "_Come_." 

The boy drew in a deep breath and closed the distance between their hands of his own accord. There was no static electricity, no sting, nothing. Just the warm touch of another human being. 

Voldemort pulled the boy up easily and took him with him to the edge of the balcony. 

"Watch out for our other guest, Barty," he commanded. "No harm shall befall Luna Lovegood here, do you understand me?" 

"Of course," Barty agreed. "Be safe, my lord." 

Voldemort rolled his eyes at that and nodded fondly. "Yes, _ mother._"

With that, he grabbed Potter around the waist and catapulted them over the balustrade with a burst of magic. The boy screamed until they landed safely on the ground and staggered away from him. 

"Was that really necessary? I thought you wanted to kill me after all!" 

"I'm long past killing you," Voldemort easily drawled. "The press is doing my job for me, don't you think?" 

"Ha, yeah. I can't believe no one believed me about you, you know," Potter sighed, hugging himself a little. "I just, I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore. Who I'm fighting for. They don't even want me as their saviour anymore! Not that I wanted to be one in the first place…"

He watched the teenager for a while, silently, until the boy lifted his eyes and made eye contact with him. 

"Lord Voldemort keeps his promises, Harry Potter," he told the boy. "No matter what path you decide on, going forward, always remember that." 

Voldemort started walking then and noticed with smug satisfaction how easily the teenager fell into step beside him. 

"Crouch Jr told me last summer that he was to be rewarded above all others for facilitating your return after he was found out," Potter started, uncertainly. "I thought he was mad when he said that you're like a father to him but… you really _ do _ like him, don't you?"

"First of all, he's Barty here," Voldemort corrected him. "His biological father is not worthy of a son such as him, thus his last name is not spoken. And yes, I do find myself rather fond of him. I wouldn't be here if not for him, at least not as I am now, as you've so shrewdly realised." 

"So you _ do _ see him as… a son, of sorts?" 

"Why the focus on dear Barty, Harry? Are you jealous?" 

"What? No!" The boy stopped in his tracks but when Voldemort kept up his languid pace he followed once more. "It's just… Dumbledore said you don't know love. That you can't… feel it? Experience it? It just sounded an awful lot like, well, some kind of love, fondness, whatever you want to call it just now." 

"Hmm," Voldemort hummed, thinking those words over. "He's never liked me, did you know that? Dumbledore, I mean. Lucius has told me about the affair with the diary, of course, so you must have met my younger self?" 

The teen nodded, hanging on to his every word. Good. 

"I was so spirited, then. Pity it was destroyed, but you didn't know better, I suppose. Lucius did, and he was punished accordingly. But about Dumbledore– he was the one who gave me my letter when I was eleven, can you imagine? I grew up in an orphanage, unaware of my heritage and my gift, though I _had_ mastered many tricks by then. I was a clever child, Dark even back then but more through necessity than anything else."

"And Dumbledore… sensed that?" 

"You could say that," Voldemort replied evenly. "He's watched me during all my school years, never letting me out of his sight. And yet– he never once offered me guidance to lead me astray of my chosen path. Does that seem familiar?" 

"He's been ignoring me all year," Potter shared, teeth grit. "I don't know why, and then there are these dreams about you… It feels like I spent more time with you this year than I did all my life with Dumbledore."

They had arrived in the Malfoy's beautifully kept rose garden and Voldemort led Potter over to a gazebo with two delicate chairs waiting for them. 

"I had the house elves prepare this as we were walking," he explained when the boy looked puzzled. 

"Ah," he replied. "Still torturing the poor things? My friend I mentioned earlier used to be a house elf here. Lucius abused him so much he was a bundle of nerves when I freed him– with your diary, no less."

"I have distaste for the abuse of house elves," Voldemort shared freely, relishing Potter's surprised look. He would have to question Lucius later on about that, though. "Awfully clever little creatures. Unparalleled loyalty when treated accordingly. I have need of such servants and they fall over themselves to do my bidding." 

Potter actually snorted a laugh at that and mumbled something about a spew. But then the teenager sat down first and looked at him expectantly, so he followed and sat down opposite him. 

"You're a lot less awful than I'd have expected," Potter said bluntly. "Is that only because I'm dangling a Hallow in front of your, uh, slits?" 

"I was cordial even before you dangled_ anything_ in my face," Voldemort reminded him with a raised eyebrow. "What other questions do you have for me?" 

"How did you know it was me in the prophecy?" 

"I didn't. It could have been another boy– Neville Longbottom. He's born one day before you and fit the description too, but you were more like me so I came for you." 

"So you're… more afraid of yourself?" 

"I'd be a fool if I wasn't," he answered. "You don't know half of the things I can do, Harry. It's a shame you weren't Sorted into Slytherin. You might have fared there better if not for your past." 

"The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin first," Potter admitted and Voldemort felt his curiosity peak. "Back then I was already indoctrinated enough to think that everything evil comes out of Slytherin so I pleaded with the Hat not to send me there." 

"Ah, yes. The fall from grace of Slytherin House. No doubt also helped along by Dumbledore appointing a known former death eater as the Head of House. Tell me, Harry, what you think of Severus Snape. Be frank." 

"There is no man I despise as much as him," Potter hissed. "If he were here right now, I'd rip him apart with my own hands. He's the reason all this, _ everything,_ happened to me. And he's a shit human and an even worse teacher. His hygiene is atrocious, his taste in fashion is worse than mine and he has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. If you ask me, he's playing both you _ and _ Dumbledore. He's only ever cared about himself and I hate him with every fibre of my being."

Ah, there was that famous Gryffindor hot-headedness. Not many Gryffindors in his ranks, but he'd seen it often in fights– shortly before he'd killed them, of course. 

"So you think he's not loyal to me? I shall have to meditate about this later. But we disgress. What else would you like to ask me?" 

"If you… won. Hypothetically speaking. What would you do?" 

"Overhaul the ministry of magic. Make it more effective and have actual law wizards draw up reasonable laws. Close departments, restructure, that kind of thing. Elect new magical families into the Wizengamot. Pass new laws for Sentient Creatures. Tear that atrocious fountain down. Anything specific you'd like to know?"

"What about Hogwarts? Who would you put as Headmaster? What would you change about the curriculum?" 

"I'd fancy becoming the headmaster myself, actually. Oh don't look so surprised, you love the castle as well, don't you? It's my true home, and I want to see it returned to its former glory. More teachers, more subjects, more everything." 

Potter was up again, pacing. 

"That's not what they told me about you. They said you're a vicious mass murderer and that you have no feelings and kill whoever crosses you and that you will destroy Hogwarts and… and now you sound actually reasonable and sane? I feel like I don't understand anything!"

"How do you think I first garnered support from my would-be followers, Harry? A presumed mudblood orphan in Slytherin? Do you think I _ frightened _ students older and richer and more powerful than me into my willing slaves? No! I did what I do best. I was _ charismatic._ I told them about my goals, my plans, and they aligned with what they wanted too– only _ I _ was brave enough to call for change and they rallied under my banner. More so when I realised I descend from Lord Slytherin himself."

"So you don't want to kill all the muggle-born children and adults and have a pureblood utopia?" 

"I can't even take that seriously, Harry. I know what inbreeding does to people. I believe, with time, I'd even encourage my followers to marry halfbloods. Strengthen the bloodlines again by making them diverse. I mostly need the Purebloods for their money and influence."

"What– why are you telling me all this?" 

"Because you asked me," Voldemort shrugged. "I promised I'd tell the truth and be real: do you think any of my followers would believe you over me? Or anyone on the Light side would believe anything you say at all?" 

Potter snorted again at that and walked over to the edge of the gazebo, looking into the rose garden. 

"Point taken," he muttered, his voice carried over by the wind.

After a moment's consideration, Voldemort joined him, looking down sideways at the unruly mob of hair of his supposed nemesis and vanquisher. 

"So you'd do it? Take a vow not to hurt me or my friends?" Those green eyes were pleading when they looked up at him. 

"Unless they attack me or mine first, yes." 

Potter chuckled. A joyless little sound. 

"I don't want to fight anymore. I'm only fifteen and I'm already tired of fighting! I never wanted _ any _ of this. I just want out…" 

"If I won," Voldemort started, gauging the boy's reaction carefully, "I'd pardon your godfather. The public might not believe his innocence if I was the one to do it but that wouldn't be a change from anything with the exception that he'd be a free man once more." 

He could practically hear the teenager swallow. 

"Figures," he replied drily. "It only takes you one flick of the wrist where Dumbledore was ready to have two third years responsible for saving him from execution by dementor… oh, that reminds me! No one knows how Cr- I mean, how Barty escaped from Hogwarts. Fudge wanted him Kissed on sight. If you don't mind– how did he escape? I won't tell anyone."

"Aah, you do realise that Barty is quite brilliant, don't you? He managed to fool Dumbledore and all the school for a whole year, so it's no wonder he was able to escape, is it? Dumbledore had Minerva McGonagall guard him and she was later found stunned. Imagine this: He's known her for a whole year when she's guarding him, he manages to get under her skin, she gets careless, he grabs her wand because she hesitates and that's it. He still had Polyjuice, took one of her hairs and just walked right out the front gates and Apparated to me."

"That simple, hm? I see." 

"We don't always go for flashy, young Harry," Voldemort tutted. "A true Dark Wizard knows when to employ stealth and cunning. Has your curiosity been satisfied, then?" 

"Yes, I, uh, thank you. For being honest with me. At least I hope you were. Luna and I should probably leave now… before anyone at Hogwarts notices that we're missing." 

"You could stay here," Voldemort offered before he'd quite thought the implications through. "I could have a couple of the guest rooms made ready for you." 

"And then what? Wait here until someone decides it's a good idea to start a well-meaning but bloody rescue mission on my behalf?" 

"No one needs to know where you are for quite some time, Harry. Oh, but that reminds me– how did you know where to find me?" 

"Luna said that thestrals are really intelligent and that they could, uh, find their destination quite like owls. I mean, you've probably realised by now that we have a connection of sorts and I thought of that very strongly and the thestral… followed whatever it is that links us?"

"I see. It's my turn to thank you for being honest with me," Voldemort admitted. "I hadn't considered thestrals to be _ quite _ as useful, to be honest. But you're right. The time might not be right, yet. You should return to school. I will have some people draft Vows for us and have them discreetly sent your way." 

Potter nodded, relief evident on his open face.

"Regardless of what you've decided today– hang on to the cloak for a while longer. It won't do for Dumbledore to suspect a thing."

They started leisurely walking back to the manor, both lost in their own thoughts until Potter broke it with a blessed question. 

"The prophecy– is there a way to listen to it? Could I maybe get it from Dumbledore if I asked the right questions?" 

With it being too early to celebrate, Voldemort bid himself heed caution and patience. 

"You won't get to it through Dumbledore. There is a vast, cavernous room full of prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, deep under the ministry. You and I could retrieve it, seeing as the prophecy is about us. You will understand, of course, that I can't just walk into the ministry and get it myself."

"But I could?" 

"Yes, of course," Voldemort forced himself to reply non-chalantly. "You're not a wanted criminal mastermind, last I checked." 

There was that delightful little laugh again. 

"Could I– do you have anyone who could take me there? There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Not Lucius, though, unless there's really no one else. I would get it and we could… listen to it together? Decide what to do? With as little loss of life as possible? I mean, the beginning says I have the power to vanquish you, not that I _ have to _ vanquish you. I want to hear all of it."

"I could send any number of ministry personnel with you," Voldemort boasted a little. "I'll think about it. Someone will meet you at the second-hand bookshop and introduce themselves as… your escort. They'll show you their arm. I'll have them side-along Apparate you to the ministry, accompany you to the Hall of Prophecies and Apparate you back."

"That's acceptable, thank you. Again. Funny how that works, isn't it?" Potter's smile was self-deprecating but no less earnest. "The Boy-Who-Lived, working with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to find a way to escape a prophecy that binds them together. There's a book somewhere in there." 

"Hold tight," Voldemort simply told him and grabbed around his waist again when they'd reached the balcony.

This time, Potter didn't scream though he did stagger away from him again. 

"Where's Luna?" There was no small amount of suspicion in the boy's gaze and Voldemort allowed himself roll his eyes. 

"I promised she'd be safe. Barty was her teacher for a year– they know each other. Come with me." 

He led Potter down an opulent corridor, making straight for the library. The girl had worn Ravenclaw colours, so there was really only one place where two Ravenclaws would spend an indefinite amount of time waiting. 

When they reached the library, they did indeed find Barty and the Lovegood girl, both presently hunched over an ancient tome. His follower was pointing something out to the girl and she laughed at what he was saying. 

"When I said not to harm her, I didn't expect her to be shown _ every _ courtesy, Barty," Voldemort drawled and watched with satisfaction how Barty flinched. 

"My Lord Voldemort, I meant no disrespect," the man was quick to assure him, coming towards them and sinking to one knee. "It's only, she asked a question about something we'd talked about in class last year and… old habits die hard." 

"Do get up, Barty," Voldemort commanded impatiently and sat himself down in a throne-like armchair he liked to occupy when he was reading. "Come here instead and give me your arm."

He touched Barty's mark with the tip of his wand and called Rabastan. In only a couple of minutes, the man arrived and bowed deeply. 

"How can I be of service, my lord?" 

"You will fetch your brother and go to where you've met up with Mr. Potter and Ms. Lovegood. Then, you will fly the two thestrals back to the Forbidden Forest and Apparate back here. You may leave." 

Potter waited until Rabastan had left to turn to him. 

"I thought you said we could leave?" The boy sounded cautious now and seemed immediately on edge. 

"And leave you will, as I've promised," Voldemort replied, only just managing to stop a wink from happening. "Barty, can you Side-Along Apparate these two alone or do you need help?" 

"No, that will be fine, my Lord. To the gates of Hogwarts?" 

"Precisely. Give them their wands back once you've arrived." 

"Harry," the girl said with a carefree voice. "It's already 3 am. We might not even make it back in time without their help. He's just looking out for us." 

"Oh… I see. I'm sorry for falling back into old patterns so quickly," Potter apologised. Again with the self-deprecation. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it. And I mean that. Really don't mention it. To anyone." He waited for both of his guests to nod gravely before continuing. "Someone will be in touch with you shortly with the Vows. I also wish you luck with your retrieval of what we've discussed."

"For what it's worth… I'm sorry for what has happened between us in the past, I guess. If I'd known half of what I know now, things would have turned out differently." 

Voldemort tilted his head in acknowledgement. 

"I am very pleased about your visit. I'll have people look out for you at Hogwarts and the ministry, if under false pretenses." 

Barty bowed to him and waited for Potter and the girl to grab onto an arm each. Voldemort kept looking into his nemesis' eyes until the three had disappeared with the tell-tale crack of Apparition. 

Only then did he allow himself to conjure his wine glass from where he'd vanished it to. He crossed one leg over the other and took a deep swallow. 

There were many things Voldemort had missed as a wraith. The feeling of triumph and the satisfaction of a night well-spent were among them. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after 84 years, the second chapter of the fanfic based on the animatic based on the musical..!

The library was quiet for a while and Voldemort allowed himself a smile of smug satisfaction. He idly wandered over to the book Barty and the girl had been poring over.

His eyebrow quirked up a little when he saw the title. An Introduction to Soul Magic. Why would that slip of a girl be interested in Soul Magic? And the page marked by the cord was dealing with how to go about creating an Inferius, of all things.

Surely a girl her age wasn't an aspiring necromancer?

She had to be unusual in more than demeanor, though, to have accompanied Harry Potter to his nemesis' lair. Encouraged him, even, if her actions toward the boy were to be believed.

Walking back over to his armchair, he decided to wait for Barty. 

It didn't take him long to come back and Voldemort noted with carefully-concealed fondness that the man was happily surprised to see him still waiting. 

"My Lord Voldemort," Barty breathed, crossing the distance between them in three long steps and sinking to his knees in front of him. "Harry Potter and his friend are safely returned to Hogwarts. I watched from a tree until they had reached the castle." 

"You needn't kneel every time, Barty, I've told you that," Voldemort reminded him. "But well done nevertheless." 

"I like the kneeling," Barty shrugged, not meeting his eyes for a moment. "Is there anything else you need of me?" 

"Always," Voldemort promised, caressing Barty's cheek with a long, white finger for the briefest moment. "In this particular case– what do you make of this evening? You know Harry Potter, you must know the Lovegood girl as well. I should like you to tell me your thoughts and I will have you talk freely."

"No sycophancy, yes, I remember that lesson very clearly," Barty replied, nervously licking his lips. "I'll start with the girl. Ravenclaw, brilliant but an absolute basket case. She sees and believes in creatures no one else can see—not like the thestrals. I'm talking about Wrackspurts and Rakatonian Rumdungers and, and Quaffling… somethings. Her father is the lone editor and journalist of the Quibbler, if you've heard of that?"

He had indeed come across that, once or twice, and vaguely remembered stumbling over the name Xenophilius Lovegood in relation to the Hallows. While one part of his brain kept on thinking about that, he waved Barty on.

"As far as I know, Lovegood wasn't among Potter's few friends last year, so it must be a relatively recent acquaintance. I'd guess, seeing as she's the daughter of a conspiracy theorist, she was one of the few people to believe him about your return." Barty sank back on his haunches and dropped down into a cross-legged position, crossing his arms. "As to the part she played in him coming here? No idea." 

"She is interested in soul magic?" 

Voldemort was a little surprised to see a blush creep over Barty's face.

"Not in the way you might think," the man mumbled, running his hand over his face. "She figured, since we've successfully resurrected you, that there might be a way to reanimate her mum who died - in front of her eyes - when she was nine years old. I took her here to show her what normally happens when you resurrect the dead." 

"And how did she take it?" 

"Oh, she said that you must be very special if you didn't return as an Inferius. Then I told her that you were, in fact, the most special person on this planet and she had the nerve to giggle." Barty tapped his sharp nose with his wand absent-mindedly. "Maybe she persuaded him to come here only so she could ask about soul magic? She doesn't strike me as the selfish type, though, so who knows. But, yeah, that's all I got." 

"Mmh," Voldemort hummed, leaning back in the armchair and propping his feet up on a foot rest Barty hastily conjured up as he did so. "The boy, then. A frightened little thing. You'd have thought he'd be a champion by now, well-versed in magical combat and well-informed about Magical Society and his place in it. When I met him at the graveyard, even with your counsel beforehand, I had greatly overestimated his abilities. He escaped thanks to a fluke—but I don't find myself regretting it as much as I'd feared, after all. Do you think he'll prove useful?"

"I admit I was surprised to see him here. More than surprised, actually," Barty admitted. "Before I sent someone to alert you, we waited for an hour to rule out Polyjuice and we tested him for possession, Imperious and a host of other things in the meantime. Everything came back negative." 

"So he really did come here of his own accord," Voldemort concluded, thoughtful. "I will also rule out the possibility that he has been sent by the Light on an ill-guided reconnaissance mission. Dumbledore wants as much distance between the boy and me as possible. Wouldn't do for him to humanise me in any way, don't you think?" 

Barty snorted, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the high ceiling of the library. "When you two spoke alone, were you honest with him?" 

"I spoke no lies," Voldemort replied evenly. "This is an unprecedented opportunity, Barty. He came here because he feels left alone and betrayed and I offered him knowledge and sanctuary. Aah, you could feel in his very core how shaken he was, how different a reception he'd anticipated. We played our cards right. If we press on, ever so lightly, ever so insistently, he shall fall as Lucifer fell."

"A young man ready to betray his side because he's frightened of fighting, then?"

"Frightened of losing, more specifically," Voldemort nodded. "I can't decide whether I should deem him brave or craven for acknowledging that." 

"Doesn't matter," Barty shrugged. "Useful is what it is. His teenage insecurities have played him right into our hands. He feels left alone by Dumbledore and the Light as a whole and wants to fashion a truce between the two of you to save his own hide and that of a trusted few. What more could you want of him?" 

"Harry Potter will always be a loose end if left alone," Voldemort slowly replied. "First, I shall use him to get the prophecy and the Cloak."

"Will you stall with the Vows?" 

"Hmm. There is so much to consider, Barty." Lord Voldemort ran a hand over his smooth head and closed his eyes. "For now, I think I shall retire and leave the thinking to the morrow." 

"Of course, my Lord," Barty replied, immediately getting up from the ground and waiting for him. "Who will you send to the ministry with Potter?" 

"I was thinking of sending you, polyjuiced as someone neutral," he drawled, watching his servant's face grow blank. 

"Polyjuice, yes?" The man's swallowing was audible. "Splendid idea. Yes. Of course. Brilliant as always." 

"Oh do lighten up, Barty," Voldemort chuckled darkly, allowing his servant to see a lazy smirk settle on his face as he started walking out of the library. "As if I'd ever ask you to drink that again. Sleep well, there is much to do in the morning." 

"I will," he heard his servant responding before the door falling shut swallowed all noise. 

Much to do, indeed. People to contact, documents to draft, plans to think through– and he also realised that there was only one servant at Hogwarts he'd trust with facilitating correspondence with Potter. 

-o-

When Lord Voldemort met Harry Potter next, the boy was once again thrumming with nervous energy. 

Lord Nott was with him as was, once again, the strange girl. 

"Welcome back, Harry Potter," Voldemort greeted and held out his hand. 

Cautious but confident, the boy reached out and shook it. 

Satisfied, Voldemort looked towards Nott. 

"I trust everything went smoothly?" 

"Your plan went off without a hitch, my lord. The boy was hidden until we were in the hall of prophecies and our contact led me there without anyone the wiser." 

"So it really is the fabled cloak of legend," Voldemort said to Potter, relishing in the way the boy blushed. "Tell me, Harry, have you the prophecy with you?" 

Potter nodded, reaching into his pocket to get out a milky white orb swirling seductively with dark promises and revelations. 

"Leave us, Nott," Voldemort commanded and was surprised to see the man remaining where he was, fidgeting a little. "Was there something else?" 

"They… still have their wands, my lord. Shall I relieve your guests of them?" 

Voldemort pondered Potter and the Lovegood girl before shaking his head. 

"No need, Nott. Harry, Ms Lovegood and myself will behave ourselves. I appreciate the thoughtfulness." 

"My lord." Nott bowed and left them alone in his study. 

"Shall I leave as well, Lord Voldemort?" 

He wasn't even surprised at this point that the girl spoke his name so fearlessly. 

"I think that might be wise. If you wish to continue your study of soul magic with my servant, you may find him in the library." 

The girl clapped excitedly and nodded. 

"Will you be alright, Harry?" she asked and gave the boy a quick hug when he nodded. 

"I was last time. Go and explore a little, I'll be fine here." 

Such trust, so quickly. It took all his willpower not to direct a lazy smirk at the boy at the thought that Dumbledore was throwing all this dormant loyalty away. And for what? 

"The terms of your Truce seemed… acceptable to me," Potter told him, looking at the prophecy in his hand. "I was surprised to have Theodore Nott of all people approach me with it. I haven't heard him say more than ten words to me over our five years at school but he's surprisingly decent." 

"The Notts are decent people in general. Theodore's father has been at my side since our school days." 

"They really are all loyal to you, aren't they?" The boy chuffed his feet against the stone and Voldemort noticed the worn trainers he was sporting. 

"Why are you wearing this muggle filth on your feet?" 

"That? Oh, I… uh, haven't properly been to Diagon in years. They won't really let me." 

"They? That pitiful Order?" 

The boy seemed to fight with the notion of defending those people before nodding in the end. 

"Yes… I'm still a minor, so…" He shrugged. "Look, it doesn't matter. In a little over a year I'll be of age and I can finally go where I want to." 

"So you've never gone where you wanted to go?" 

Frankly, this begged belief but the way the boy blushed and looked anywhere but at him spoke volumes. So open. So readable. So heart-on-his-sleeve. 

"We're not here to put me through therapy or anything, are we?" Potter looked irritated. "It's none of your concern. For all you care, you can be reasonably sure I'll just leave Britain and, and go hunt scrumple-horned snorkacks with Luna in remote Scandinavia or something once I'm done with school. I have enough of being held prisoner." 

"I understand," Voldemort said simply and held out a hand. "The prophecy then, so we finally know what we're dealing with?" 

Potter heaved a big breath and handed the orb over. It felt cool to his touch, a barely-there weight of such great importance that Voldemort almost started to tremble. 

"This is the reason we have suffered so for the last fourteen years," he told the boy. "And now, we will find out why." 

He threw the orb on the ground and watched it break into countless pieces. A shadowy vision of a woman with enormous glasses started floating before them and the boy gasped.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_"

"That's **bullshit**," Potter growled when it was over. "That was my Divination Professor, Sibyl Trelawney, and she's about as much of a Seer as I am a, a Potions master!" 

"And yet, it was recorded as a True Prophecy, Harry." Voldemort scratched at his chin. "There is an inherent magic in true prophecies; I'm afraid she must have her moments." 

"What does that even mean, a power the Dark Lord knows not?" the boy went on as if he hadn't heard, walking up and down and wringing his hands. 

Voldemort let him ramble while he got his quill to write down the prophecy. 

"– bloody shame he didn't tell me! And what's with the cryptic hints he's been giving me of a connection and me having been saved by—" 

The boy stopped himself then, going rigid as a statue. Bewildered, Voldemort looked up from the parchment to find Potter staring into the distance, gaze vacant. 

"Are you going to go catatonic on me?" 

"Dumbledore, he…" The boy turned towards him. "He said that my mother's love saved me from you, that Halloween night. He's been… uh, he's been going on about love a lot, actually, whenever he deigned to speak to me." 

"Yes? Your point?" 

Potter looked devastated at that moment, and his knuckles were white where he had balled his hands to fists. He seemed incredibly tense. 

When the boy spoke, his voice was flat. 

"He expects me to beat you _with the power of love_." 

Surprisingly, it felt like about a quarter of Voldemort's brain cells died with that statement and he had to look away to collect himself. 

When he looked back at the boy the absurdity of the situation seemed to hit them at the same time and they both burst into laughter. 

For Potter, it was breathless, desperate giggles that had him sink to his knees and hold his head while Voldemort valiantly fought and lost against the chuckles rising uncontrollably in his throat. 

It was all very droll.

"Alright, Harry, this is not what I first associated with a power I know not," Voldemort admitted after they'd calmed down a little. "But let's be reasonable about this. Any other powers up your sleeve?" 

"I could cast a corporeal Patronus in third year," Potter shrugged. "Other than that I'm really only average at magic to be honest. Now my friend Hermione, she's exceptionally talented at everything, but I'm not. Well, I mean, I can talk to snakes but that's hardly a power you know not, right?" 

"No, that definitely isn't a power I k—**what**!" 

Potter flinched. "What what? You didn't know?" 

"I didn't—**no**, I did not know you were a bloody parselmouth! Why did I not know? Who knows!?" 

"Just about everyone," Potter replied cautiously, taking a step back. "I thought you knew! In my second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, everyone thought it was me all year because I talked to a snake during a dueling club session." 

"Unbelievable! I can't—**so** many people are going to pay for this." The boy looked frightened and Voldemort forced himself to calm down. "Not you, though. Never you. You don't have any idea how long—" 

He forced himself to breathe, fascinated by the way his heart had sped up. Voldemort walked closer to the boy, Potter, no—Harry, and while the boy looked like he wanted to run, he stood his ground without flinching. 

"You're a parselmouth," Voldemort repeated and couldn't quite keep the sudden longing out of his voice. "_Tell me something in our language, boy_." 

"_I've never spoken Parseltongue with another human before,_" Harry replied after a moment's hesitation, hisses rolling from his tongue as if he'd been born for it. "_I've only ever talked to snakes like this before. I heard your diary self speak it, but there was hardly time for talk, what with the basilisk chasing_ _me_." 

When he was only one step away from the boy, Voldemort forced himself to stop and looked down at his prophesied nemesis. Such a small young man, but such promise… 

"_I've never had the privilege to hear another human speak this noble language_," Voldemort shared with him, fighting the sudden urge to take. "_How long have you known_?" 

"_Since I was… ten years old? We went to a zoo. I freed a boa because my cousin was bullying me_." 

Fascinating. He could only stare at the boy but forced himself to stop when Harry seemed to get uncomfortable. 

"I apologise but this is a big part of who I am, Harry Potter. To have my… nemesis share this attribute of mine is, frankly, a bit of a shock." 

"No, I, I think I get it. Back in muggle school I always thought I was a freak for making things happen that others couldn't, so when I found out I was a wizard, I was ecstatic I wasn't the weird one after all." Harry's gaze turned wistful. "And then, in the end, I was the odd one out anyhow. Funny how that happens right?" 

Voldemort put some distance between them because his traitorous fingers were still itching to touch and explore and find out more. 

"The prophecy," he grit out, looking at the parchment again. "'Neither can live while the other survives.' When I was a wraith, you were being abused by your relatives, so not really living a happy life. At Hogwarts, you were an outcast and the student population was quick to turn on you, yes?"

"Well if you put it like that," Harry sighed, sitting down on an armchair and hiding his face in his hands. "I get what you mean. Even though we both survived, neither of us was really… living. Does that mean we'll only find peace if one of us kills the other? But all that just because you marked me and you'd never have done that if not for the bloody prophecy in the first place!"

"Quite correct, I'm afraid. Such is the nature of prophecies." Voldemort studied the words again. "The minute I 'marked you as my equal', the second part became active, so to speak. But are we bound by it?" 

"Do prophecies have that power? If we both decide to, I don't know, just ignore it, will it stop having power over us? I want to live, you want to live, would the Vows we're thinking of taking, uh, overrule the prophecy?" 

"Only one way to find out, dear Harry." 

"It's dear Harry now?" The boy got up again, coming closer to his desk. "Look, ever since you found out I'm a parselmouth, you've been, uh, different. Nicer. Even nicer than before which, in itself, is still such a weird concept. Is it really such a big deal to you?" 

"Only the descendants of Salazar Slytherin can speak to snakes, Harry," Voldemort told the boy. 

"So what? We're… related? But my dad wasn't descended from Slytherin as far as I know. It would be more well-known if the Potters were heirs of Slytherin, right? And my mum was a muggleborn." 

"No, this can't be it," Voldemort agreed. "Then how—" 

A terrible, wonderful, terrible, _wonderful_ thought started dancing at the forefront of his mind and he felt his eyes go wide. 

"Surely not…" Voldemort's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Our connection, of course, it's all there, how could I be so _blind_? Give me your hand, boy, quick now." 

Confused but obedient, Harry reached out and held out his hand as if going for a handshake. Voldemort grabbed it with his left hand and raised his wand with the right. 

"Will you trust me with this? There is a spell that will let me see into your mind. I fear—no, I hope that on that fateful night, a part of me ended up inside of you." 

Harry almost pulled his hand away. 

"A part of you? What part?" The boy looked doubtful and a little grossed out. "Like, something physical?" 

Ah yes, that explained the grossed out part. 

"Nothing physical. A... part of my soul," Voldemort replied softly, feeling the boy flinch where their hands were connected. 

"A part of your soul," he repeated, looking up at Voldemort with his honest, green eyes. "Alright, I definitely need to know whether that's true. I will trust you with this. Not like anyone tells me any big war secrets you could find out anyhow." 

The last part was only mumbled but Voldemort bary heard it, losing himself in the boy's eyes instead. 

"_Legilimens_." 

Voldemort took all the care and caution he had over this power to enter the boy's mind as gently as he could. He immediately sensed the confusion and fear upon having allowed his greatest enemy access to his head but Voldemort caressed these thoughts with ghost-like fingers until they had turned into cobwebs, to be swept away with a breath of air. 

He felt around with his all his senses, paying little heed to a teenage boy's mindscape but searching, instead, for something more familiar. 

There, in the distance, a light beckoned him and he went hither as if drawn in. Strangely enough, Harry was waiting for him, head cocked to the side. 

"Is this you?"

He followed the boy's gaze, down to a pitiful little monster of a baby, wrapped in dirty linen. 

"I suppose it is," he admitted, feeling quite sick all of a sudden. 

Unbidden memories of a young boy, an outcast, brought up with little food and even less care and warmth rose in his own mind and he drew away from the little bundle screaming in the darkness. 

"Poor thing," he heard Harry say as the boy bent down to pick up the disfigured baby with raw, flayed meat where skin should have been. "You've been here all this time, freezing in those rags, and I didn't even know…" 

The boy gently rocked the baby in his arms and slowly, it stopped its crying and its horrible, flayed skin regained more human characteristics. There was even some colour returning to its cheeks. 

All that served to do for Voldemort was imbue him with a sudden sense of vertigo so strong he lost the connection to the boy and staggered back as if struck. 

Back in his study, Voldemort's head was still spinning and he had to hold on to the backrest of a couch so as not to fall. 

The boy was still standing there with a serene smile on his face, looking towards somewhere far away. Cursing this sudden weakness, Voldemort sent out a distress signal and in no time at all, the Lovegood girl and Barty came barreling in. 

"Master!" Barty was by his side instantly, leading him around the couch and helping him sit down. "What has he done to you? I knew I shouldn't have—" 

"It wasn't Harry," Luna interjected, shaking the boy. "Look at him, he's out of it. Harry!" 

She shook him a little more and suddenly, life returned to his staring eyes. 

"Luna? What? Where's the baby?" 

"The… baby? What baby? Poor Harry, did you hit your head?" 

Voldemort watched Barty and Luna exchange suspicious glances and rolled his eyes. 

"What have you two been up to, master? Was the prophecy that bad?" 

"It actually wasn't," Voldemort told him, gesturing over to the desk. "The realisation that seemingly everyone but me knew that Harry Potter was a parselmouth was a much bigger revelation." 

"Oh, but it was all over the papers," the girl said, making Harry sit opposite him. "Even father wrote about it. He thinks it's the heliopaths, actually." 

"Be that as it may," Voldemort sneered, affronted that apparently really everyone but him had known. "Barty, bring us some refreshments. Harry and I have had quite a tiring morning." 

"It's almost time for lunch, my lord. They could… join you? Us?" 

Voldemort looked over at Harry and Luna and raised an eyebrow. 

"You are aware that your sudden appearance here a couple weeks ago has made the rounds, Harry Potter?" 

The boy nodded, still somewhat dazed. "I have, yes. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy that is, has gone from pulling my pigtails to pouting in a corner whenever he sees me. They have all left the pink toad's Inquisitorial Squad, too." 

"As they should when their Lord commands them to," Voldemort hissed. "This dreadful woman's hold on my castle will end soon. Everyone who is mine will work against her." 

"The curse will get her at the end of the year," Barty shrugged. "It got me last year, too, like it's gotten everyone for the last 30 years. Beautiful piece of charms work, that, by the way, master." 

Voldemort inclined his head and rose, feeling quite more like himself again. 

"It's still early, Harry. After lunch, I would continue our conversation. There's much still we need to talk about." 

"I guess you're right," Harry sighed, combing his fingers through his unruly hair while following Voldemort through the grand manor. "I have lots of questions about the, you know, the _thing_." 

He pointed to his head and Voldemort nodded. 

"As you should have. We will talk later, but for now, we're going to make a statement." 

"A wha—?" 

Shortly before they reached the dining room, Voldemort put his left arm around the boy's slight frame and drew him into his side with a hand on his shoulder. 

Something deep inside of him sang when they touched like this and by the way the boy looked up at him, surprise evident on his face, the feeling was mutual. Another part of his fractured soul, returned to him so easily, so well-protected, so… _spirited_. 

When they walked into the room, everyone seemed to stop what they were doing. Lucius and Narcissa who were talking to Nott over in one corner of the room seemed to have turned into stone while the three Lestranges, already sitting at the long dining room table, were eyeing them with bemused confusion in the case of Rabastan and Rodolphus and suspicion from Bellatrix. 

"My lord?" Lucius approached them with long strides, stopping at a respectful distance and refusing to look at either Harry or Luna. "What are they—shall I… tell the house elves to prepare two more seats or…?" 

…_or should I prepare the dungeon_?, Voldemort completed in his mind. 

"Two more seats, Lucius. To my left, if you please." 

-o-

As expected, lunch was a solemn affair. The two teenagers to his left were whispering with each other while his death eaters were trying a little too hard to pretend that everything was exactly like it was every day. 

"No, I get that, but they're still going to hate me," Voldemort heard Harry whisper heatedly sometime around dessert and looked to his left.

"Maybe in the beginning but once they realise how safe a Truce will make them, don't you think they'll see your way of looking at it?" 

"Not Hermione," Harry shrugged. "And definitely not Ron. They'll think I'm giving up, surrendering, and that I'm a coward for not fighting." 

"Well, aren't you?" 

The question was posed innocently enough but the sudden sharpness in the girl's gaze belied her youthful face. 

"I'm not saying that to make you feel bad, Harry Potter," she continued. "There's a difference between being brave enough to face your demons and running headfirst into a solid brick wall. Right now, the solid brick wall is sitting to your right and I'm not prepared to see you smash your head open like some **stupid pawn** in some **stupid peoples' chess game**!"

The girl's voice had risen in intensity towards the end until she was standing and practically screaming the last bit. Everyone around the table went silent. 

"Lord Malfoy, the pudding, if you please?" She sat down, voice once again soft. Lucius wordlessly pushed the bowl of pudding over to her and Luna nodded in thanks. "Thank you. As I was saying, Harry, I won't stand for you to be forced to sacrifice yourself just because of the baby." 

-o-

Back in the study, the boy had resumed his pacing. 

"You know, I bet that if everyone knew you were out there, they'd all turn tail and expect me to be the one to fight you after demonising me for a whole year."

Voldemort inclined his head in agreement. "Certainly. Such is the nature of the headless mob." 

"It's still so frustrating though!" The boy stopped in front of his desk, leaning on it with his hands and looking into his eyes. "How can it be that I've gone from hating you and fearing you to… to this? You killed my parents! You killed Cedric!" 

"Technically, the rat killed your friend." 

"Well, you told him to do it so it might as well have been you." 

Voldemort felt his brow knit together in confusion. "I most certainly did not. I punished him harshly for killing the boy." 

"What?" Harry stood back up, expression doubtful. "You literally said 'Kill the spare!' and he obeyed." 

"And I assure you that he killed the boy unprovoked and I told him, and I quote, 'How dare you kill the spare, you raging halfwit.'" 

"Wait. What? Would you lie about this? Why would you lie about this?" 

Voldemort leaned back in his seat, a dark premonition that filled his heart with glee taking shape in his head. The final nail in the coffin. 

"There are… ways to temper with memories. Only the most skilled wizards can do it in such a way that you wouldn't notice it afterwards."

"Dumbledore, I… I let him watch my memories of that night. Surely he wouldn't have—but your voice, it, it sounded as if it came from high above now that I think about it and I guess one could have edited out everything but the kill the spare part…" 

The boy groaned as if in pain and sat down on one of the uncomfortable supplicants' chairs in front of the desk. 

"I've been played for a fool, Voldemort." 

It was strange. This was the first time Harry had called him by his chosen name while they'd talked and he liked the sound of it when the boy didn't utter it with scorn and disdain. 

"I think he knows," Voldemort told the boy and was rewarded with a pair of wide green eyes staring at him. 

"That I'm here?" 

"I don't know about that." He looked back into the boy's eyes and put as much sincerity as he could muster into his features. "But he knows about us. When he saw the diary, he must have known what it was and he knows about our connection, so he must know what is hiding behind that famous scar of yours." 

The boy drew back and clutched his hands in front of the lightning bolt scar. 

"And that's why he isn't talking to me either, is it? He's afraid of me?" Harry's voice sounded bitter. 

Voldemort nodded simply. "I suppose so." 

"That's just great," the boy sneered, a look that suited him surprisingly well. "Well if I'm here then it's his fault for not preparing me!" 

"I heard he wanted to teach you Occlumency via our mutual acquaintance Severus Snape." 

"I shot that down," Harry admitted. "Being alone in a room with Snape is the worst thing I could probably imagine. It used to be being alone in a room with you, actually, but since that turned out better than expected I'm not going to push my luck a second time." 

"Sensible. Snape is a master occlumens and legilimens which is why even I know not of his true allegiance." 

"Legilimens… You used that on me earlier didn't you? And he would have taught me to keep you out?" 

"He would have tried but you are too emotional and you don't trust him. Imagine having Severus Snape rooting around in your brain while you desperately try to keep your teenage desires and darkest secrets to yourself. A recipe for disaster." 

"You didn't even try to look at anything… personal in my head."

"Noticed that, did you?" 

"Yes, I… why didn't you?" 

"I promised not to." 

Satisfied, Voldemort watched Harry swallow and turn away. 

"What we saw in there… that, uh, part of you? Has it been there ever since I was a baby?" 

"Yes, it has. Does that gross you out?" 

"Gross me out? No! It's more of a… regret-like feeling? Who knows what would have happened if only I'd have known. Maybe it would have become sentient like your diary did and I would have grown up with a friend." 

Instantly, Voldemort felt that strange sense of vertigo again and the boy blushed furiously when he realised what he'd said. 

"I mean, you're not that terrible, are you?" Harry was quick to add. "Who knows what other lies they fed me about you. And it would have been nice, to have a friend. Maybe he'd have been able to tell me about magic before Hagrid came for me on my eleventh birthday." 

Voldemort put his head in his hands, massaging his temples because of all the ways he'd imagined this conversation could have gone, this definitely wasn't one of them. 

"The similarities between you and me are once again striking, dear Harry," he told the boy and got out from behind his desk. 

He wandered over to one of the comfortable couches and beckoned the boy over. 

"Come. I would have you tell me of the life you have lived so that I may understand my own soul better." 

Wary but no longer as jumpy as in the beginning, Harry came over to him and sat down. He didn't sit close enough for them to touch in any way but he also didn't choose to sit on the completely opposite side of the couch. 

Progress. 

"Alright," the boy started with a mixture of amusement and self-deprecation, "so when I was 6 years old I Apparated onto the roof of my school…"

And so, while the late January snow was swirling all around Malfoy Manor, the Boy-Who-Lived told the Dark Lord Voldemort about his sad and lonely childhood as a wizarding orphan raised around muggles and maybe, just maybe, Voldemort laid awake that night, cataloguing all the similarities between them and wondering, once again, about the true nature of souls. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
